


Lovely Made From Love

by alivingfire



Series: tumblr stuff/short fics [6]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Old Married Couple, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivingfire/pseuds/alivingfire
Summary: There’s gonna be a baby, soon. A real one, one made of little pieces of Louis and little pieces of Harry, and they’re gonna get to keep it, forever.
  Harry grins into his palms, a little overwhelmed.  The sleepy silence is disturbed suddenly, the loud sounds of both of their phones vibrating startling them both into action. Harry’s getting a call from his mum, Louis is getting one from Lottie.  “H’lo?” Harry answers. “Mum?”  “Harry, love,” comes Anne’s voice. “It’s time.”Harry nearly drops the phone. He looks up, meets Louis’ startled eyes. It’s time.Prompts: “Twins? We’re…we’re having twins?!” and  “Just pick a damn name, okay?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Isn't She Lovely by Stevie Wonder](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2WzocbSd2w)

 

There were so many options, back in the beginning, back when they were bright-eyed and baby-fevered and so in love it hurt to look at each other sometimes.

Not that they're not still in love. They’re  _so_ in love, so in love that it’s breath-stealing, heart-wrenching. Louis looks at Harry like he hung the moon, Harry looks at Louis like he scattered the stars. Their friends and bandmates give them grief when they fall into their bubble, too drawn in to care about anything but each other.

That hasn’t changed. But that bright-eyed excitement, that baby-induced fever?

Well… turns out months of indecision and scary, life-changing choices can take some of that excitement and turn it to panic.

But it’s fine. They’re cool. They’re _fine_.  

They’d gone the artificial insemination route. It had taken months of discussion, of compromises, of promises that it was what they wanted. They could adopt later, they’d reasoned, have a little international brood of babies to fill their mansions around the world.

But, as Louis had said as they pored over brochures and pamphlets one night, “I’ve always wanted one of me own. And, after…” he waved his hand idly, and though Harry knew he was referring to their hell of a break between the fifth and sixth albums, where Simon’s revenge scheme was twisted and Louis had to act the happy dad for months on end to get back at him, it was still a little hard to see Louis act so flippantly about something that, at the time, was so difficult. “After all that, I want to go through all of that but have it mean something. Be _worth_ something, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Harry had murmured, and he had. Louis holding babies has always been a weakness for Harry, but seeing picture after picture released by their team of Louis holding someone else’s kids, or photo manips with his head on someone else’s body… it would be nice to have that for real. More than nice; that would be _everything_.

“And, of course,” Louis had continued lightly, “I’d need at least one little curly-headed monster to complete the set.”

It had taken a moment, but Harry had gotten there eventually.

“You mean-” he’d gasped, and Louis stopped pretending to read the pamphlet called _So Your Sperm Doesn’t Work?_ so he could grin up at Harry.

“I _do_ mean,” he’d said, and that was the end of that discussion for the night because suddenly Harry was far too busy trying to rip Louis’ clothes off with his teeth to discuss their options.

They’d confirmed the plan later, though, after the sweat had dried and their hands stopped shaking long enough to hold their iPads and do some research. They had the money, that was no issue, and they definitely had the space. They could take a break between albums to get settled in, maybe even a couple of years; Niall’s been working on writing with the McFly boys and Liam’s got talks in the works for another solo album.

“Are we doing this?” Harry had asked in wonder, squeezing Louis’ hand as they typed out a message to their assistants to work out a time for them to make an appointment at the clinic.

“We’re doing this, babe,” Louis had answered.

Gemma had agreed to be the surrogate, as she’s never really been broody like Harry but wanted to help (“Oh, right,” Lottie scoffed when she heard. “She just wants to claim the Best Aunt title before the kid’s even born. That’s not fair, and I call dibs on the next one.”), and the first appointments had gone swimmingly.

Months passed in a baby haze, nights spent ordering increasingly ridiculous infant accessories online and days spent arranging and rearranging the nursery, arguing over themes and color schemes and _no, Louis, we are not going to name our future child Donny_.

They’re in the nursery now, though there’s no more work to be done. The [walls](http://st.hzcdn.com/simgs/c1d1e3af03ecf591_4-1308/beach-style-nursery.jpg) are painted, the crib is assembled, the mobile is hung. Harry is curled in the armchair in the corner, just breathing.

There’s gonna be a baby, soon. A real one, one made of little pieces of Louis and little pieces of Harry, and they’re gonna get to _keep_ it, _forever_.

Harry grins into his palms, a little overwhelmed.

“Dreaming domestic dreams, love?” Louis asks from the doorway, and Harry opens his eyes to see him leaning against the door frame, smiling gently. He’s wearing one of his soft sweaters and no socks, of course, and he’s the sweetest sight Harry’s ever seen. He crosses the room to perch on the arm of the chair, twirling a curl around his finger.

“‘m just ready,” Harry answers belatedly. “Ready to meet the little one.”

Louis hums, traces the band around Harry’s finger. “Me too, love.”

The sleepy silence is disturbed suddenly, the loud sounds of both of their phones vibrating startling them both into action. Harry’s getting a call from his mum, Louis is getting one from Lottie.

“H’lo?” Harry answers. “Mum?”

“Harry, love,” comes Anne’s voice. “It’s time.”

Harry nearly drops the phone. He looks up, meets Louis’ startled eyes. _It’s time_.

It’s a race to the hospital, Louis weaving through traffic and cursing under his breath, Harry having a panicked one-sided conversation with himself.

“-fuck, stupid fucking teenagers on their bloody phones-”

“-called the doctor, but he already knew, of course, and Mum’s driving Gems, so that’s taken care of-”

“-shit, GET OFF THE ROAD-”

“-Liam and Niall on the way, your mum called them, and Fizzy will be by the house to check on the dogs-”

They park in a private lot and are rushed through the side entrance, hurried up to the fourth floor where Jay and the Tomlinson-Deakin brood, Liam, Niall, and Robin are waiting, smiles wide. Jay pulls them into hugs, and as soon as she let go of them they found themselves squished between two emotional bandmates. 

"We're so happy for you!" Liam wails, sniffing. 

"Erm. Thanks, Payno," Louis said, pressed up against Harry's front. 

"You're namin' one of 'em after me, right?" Niall asks right in Harry's ear. 

"One of them?" 

"We'll see," Harry says, patting Niall's shoulder. 

"Ni, why did you say-" 

"Where's Gems?" Harry asks. 

“They’ve already taken her in, and your mum’s with her, Harry,” Jay explains. “I told them I’d bring you two in as soon as you got here. There’s something you need to see.”

Harry wrinkles his nose at that, because childbirth is a miracle, sure, especially when it’s a little baby Louis he’s going to get to keep at the end, but he’s really not sure seeing his sister in any sort of childbirth position is a dream come true.

“Suck it up, Styles,” Jay says when she sees, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “She’s going through this for you, least you could do is be in the room for her.”

So Harry sucks it up, and they rush down the hall to Gemma’s room.

It’s a whirlwind inside, people in scrubs rushing around and yelling orders, Anne smoothing Gemma’s hair off her sweaty forehead, Gemma herself screeching an impressive mix of expletives and chants of _never again, never again_.

“Nurse, we’ve got to hurry on this one,” the doctor says, as the three newcomers step in. “They’re trying to push out at the same time, that’s going to cause problems.”

“Same time?” Louis asks weakly, and once again it’s Harry playing catch-up. When he gets it, he has to stumble into the seat in the corner.

“Twins?” he chokes. “We’re having _twins_?!”

“ _You’re_ not having _shit_ ,” Gemma howls, throwing her head back as another contraction hits.

“Holy fuck,” Louis says, collapsing on the seat beside Harry. “ _Twins_.”

Twins. Six hours, a whole lot of screaming, a whole lot of crying (mostly by Harry), and they’re here. Two perfect bundles, one pink cap and one blue, two perfect tiny noses and sets of scrunched-up eyes and wrinkly foreheads.

“Twins,” Harry breathes, looking down at the miniature Louis in his hands, that familiar furrow between his tiny eyebrows as he yawns.

Their baby girl blinks awake in Louis’ arms, and Harry’s breath catches. She wraps a hand around his finger and he’s gone, his love has been magnified and multiplied, his heart triple the size now to make room for two new loves of his life.

Then she frowns, opens her perfect petal mouth, and screeches loudly enough to wake the whole hospital.

“She’s a Tommo alright,” Louis grins, and Harry lays his head on his shoulder, overcome with laughter and happiness.

 

 

They take them home the next day, and Harry doesn’t get a moment’s peace for the next eighteen years, especially not when they add another one to the bunch, a chocolate-curled angel with a devilish smile, who may not look much like her older brother and sister but who charms the world into falling in love with her just the same way they did.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry’s getting frustrated, Louis can tell, but it’s not_ Louis' _fault he’s got high expectations. He’s wanted kids for as long as he can remember, but he never really got to the name stage of daydreaming. Harry’s the one with the lists, the name dictionaries with ragged bookmarks and well-thumbed pages._
> 
> _“But you hate all my suggestions!” Harry says, throwing up his hands in frustration._
> 
> _“They all suck!”_
> 
> _Harry’s mouth drops open, affronted, so Louis backtracks._
> 
> _“They don’t suck, I’m sorry,” he says, patting Harry’s knee, and Harry’s frown relaxes. “I just hate them.”_

According to UK law, they have 42 days after the birth to choose a name. **  
**

Or, well. Two names. Because _twins_.

42 days, though. That’s an eternity. A small piece of forever in which to read every baby name book ever published to find the perfect names for the two most perfect babies on earth.

Except, wait. The name-deciding will have to start in a moment, because Baby Boy Tommo just threw up all over Louis’ shirt.

Precious angel.

 

 

“I like Jackson,” Harry says on the second night they’re home, bouncing the baby gently as he holds him against his chest. Louis wrinkles his nose.

“You can’t do a first name that ends in -son when his last name ends in -son,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Jackson Tomlinson? No, bad.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Think you’re forgetting a name in there somewhere.”

“Fine,” Louis says on a sigh, though he grins a little into the soft skin of their baby girl’s head. “Jackson Tomlinson-Styles. Still, doesn’t work.”

“What about Milo?” Harry asks the next day as they dance around each other in the kitchen, spilling formula into bottles and trying not to trip over the dog, who’s bouncing between them with a wildly wagging tail.

“Ugh,” Louis says as one of the babies starts kicking up a fuss upstairs, “ _Atlantis_ is, like, my least favorite Disney movie. What a waste.”

“We could do Rose for the girl,” Harry mumbles when Anne and Jay kick them upstairs to take a nap, after five days of the babies being home and a collective ten or so hours of sleep between the two of them.

Louis blinks awake just in time to rasp, “No,” before he crashes into sleep.

And so it goes, for days and days. Louis has no idea what names he likes, but he has definite opinions about what he _doesn’t_ like. The No list is growing longer and longer, aided by Niall, who keeps trying to convince the two of them to use Irish Gaelic names like Ailill and Dalaigh that they couldn’t possibly pronounce correctly, and Liam, who keeps just saying words in the hopes one of them will stick.

“Bravery.”

“No.”

“Curry.”

“God, no.”

“Tuesday.”

“Are you telling me what today is, or offering another name suggestion? Either way, no, Liam, it’s Thursday. And we aren’t using _that_ for a name, either.”

Harry’s getting frustrated, Louis can tell, but it’s not _Louis'_  fault he’s got high expectations. He’s wanted kids for as long as he can remember, but he never really got to the _name_ stage of daydreaming. Harry’s the one with the lists, the name dictionaries with ragged bookmarks and well-thumbed pages.

“But you hate all my suggestions!” Harry says, throwing up his hands in frustration.

“They all suck!”

Harry’s mouth drops open, affronted, so Louis backtracks.

“They don’t suck, I’m sorry,” he says, patting Harry’s knee, and Harry’s frown relaxes. “I just hate them.”

Louis shrieks when Harry pounces, long limbs flailing everywhere as they roll on the couch. From his spot on the blanket in the middle of the floor, their baby boy giggles as his dads act like absolute idiots.

Day thirty passes, and still the most precious people in the world don’t have names. Jay and Anne, who’ve spent every night at the house to help when Harry gets overwhelmed and teary and Louis starts stress smoking to cover up for his lack of sleep, act as referees in the name fights. When Gemma sits in on one, Harry gesturing wildly with one hand as he cradles baby boy with the other, Louis bouncing so agitatedly that baby girl is laughing delightedly, she nearly collapses with laughter.

“You two are ridiculous,” she cackles, sipping her wine. “It’s like you’re trying so hard to not be _those_ celebrities with the weird baby names that you’re driving yourselves mad. It’s hilarious.” 

“We’re not cool enough to pull off a baby name like Apple!” Harry cries.

“And we’re not weird enough to use Buzz or Mowgli,” Louis adds despondently.

Harry coughs a laugh at that, his smile bright across the room at Louis. Louis’ heart flutters, just a little, as baby boy pulls on his shirt collar and Harry’s smile grows soft as he watches. He crosses the room, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises.

They don’t figure it out. Day thirty-five, day forty pass. It’s day forty-one, and they _have_ to turn the paperwork in by tomorrow. Louis curls up in the nursery armchair and traces his thumb over baby girl’s rosebud lips, pouted in sleep. Her brother is out like a light in the crib, his little feet kicking sporadically. Harry is sprawled out in the middle of the floor, spread eagled like he’s given up.

“You don’t need a name, do you?” Louis murmurs, and baby girl squirms. “I’ll just call you little love until you’re old enough to pick your own.”

“Lou,” Harry groans. “It’s time. You’ve had over a month.”

“Harry-”

“Just pick a damn name, okay?”

“Haz, I _can’t_ ,” Louis answers desperately. “What if I choose something they hate? What if they start to hate me too because of it? What if the whole world makes fun of them because I thought a name was cool and it turns out to be stupid?”

Harry sits up, scoots across the floor to rest his cheek on Louis’ knee. “First of all, if you’d offered any name suggestions I’d tell you if it was stupid, but you haven’t. Second of all, we aren’t using any of Liam’s names, so they won’t get made fun of. Third of all,” he laughs, tracing the seam of Louis’ jeans. “Babe. You have good taste, you’re smart, and our babies are going to love you even if you gave them the worst names ever. Look.”

And Louis looks, looks at the way baby girl has her hand wrapped around his finger, the way she settles when his hand rests on her stomach.

Harry shifts up onto his knees, pulls a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket. “These are my favorite names. You can look and see if you like any of these, and if not we’ll keep looking. But it’s _going_ to be okay.”

He cups Louis’ cheek and smiles, eyes bright, then takes baby girl and lays her in the crib next to her brother. Louis unfolds the paper with shaky hands, reads over the lists again and again.

He’s heard them all before, but now is different. Now, all Harry’s ridiculous suggestions don’t seem so wild anymore. Now, he thinks to himself, Harry actually has a lot of good ideas. Now, a couple of names on the list stick out to him and click, and he knows it was just panic all along.

“Okay,” he says a few minutes later. Harry looks up from his phone, where he’s editing the latest pictures of the babies to send in the family/band group chat. “Okay. I’ve got it.”

 

 

Harry gets to be the one who announces the babies and their names to the waiting world, claiming it’s his prize for surviving a month and a half of panicking Louis. Louis lets him; he can have the first tweet, Louis will get something else.

They’re in this together, after all.

_Harry_Styles: Welcome to the world, Calliope Anne and Finn William Tomlinson-Styles. We’ve been waiting for you forever. All the love in the universe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://alivingfire.tumblr.com/post/140113916711).

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here.


End file.
